Previously in the novel: Mercenary Leon fails in a kidnapping because of David, better known as Edward the Prince of Wales. Also in the spy world is socialite Wallis Spencer, who dumps first husband Winfield, kills Uncle Sol, has an affair with German Joachin Von Ribbentrop and marries Ernest. David and Wallis are told to kill American millionaire James Donohue, but Donohue’s son Jimmy beats them to it.
David sat on the terrace enjoying the autumn colors in his garden at Fort Belvedere as he had his coffee and toast. He noticed an item in the London Times about the death of James Donohue, playboy husband of Woolworth heiress Jessie Donohue. Sources said the cause of death had yet to be determined but it was suspected to be an ear infection or an accidental overdose of bichloride mercury. The funeral, the Times reported, was one of the largest in Manhattan in years.
Accidental overdose? How could you accidentally overdose on a medication that’s supposed to be applied directly to the skin? Being considered a bon vivant of international fame, David was familiar with the curative powers of the drug. Oh well. At least we don’t have to bother with a trip to America anytime soon.
The butler stood in the door to the terrace and coughed, interrupting David’s thought.
“Yes?”
“General Trotter is here, sir.”
“Oh, send him out. And prepare him a cup of coffee.”
“Yes, sir.”
Soon David and Trotter settled into a nice conversation about how the garden was progressing. The swimming pool had been installed, though at this time of year the temperature prevented it from being used on a regular basis. Once they were sure the servants had gone on about their business, Trotter scooted his chair closer to the prince.
“I assume you read the story in the Times,” he whispered.
“Indeed. Either an ear infection or an overdose of a syphilis salve. Quite sad.”
“Yes, quite.” The general sipped his coffee. “Our sources say the organization had a hand in it.”
The organization?” David arched an eyebrow. “Evidently he had inconvenienced more than the House of Windsor.”
“Quite.” Trotter looked at David’s plate. “Do you think I could get some toast? My wife burnt mine this morning so I begged off. Now I’ve starving.”
“Of course.” David rang a bell. The butler appeared at the door. “The general wants some toast. Be generous. And take care not to burn it.”
After the butler disappeared Trotter leaned in again. “By the way, good job in Argentina. George now seem amenable to marriage. We just have to find the right woman for him.”
David cleared his throat. “Has Wallis had any missions lately?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” The general cocked his head. “And why would you care?”
“Oh, I don’t.” David looked up. “Ah. Here comes your toast. Would you like blackberry jam? Picked from my own garden.”
“Clotted cream.”
The butler placed the plate of warm toast in front of Trotter and moved the small pot of clotted cream to his side. With a bow, he left the men alone.
“The main purpose of this visit is to put you on notice that another attempt might be made to embroil George in new controversy as soon as the news gets out he is about to propose marriage. Frankly, we can’t trust the boy not to muck it up again.” He bit into his toast. “We also think the organization is behind this whole ugly sex and drugs state of affairs.”
“Bad business this. George is such a good man, really. He has potential. He and I have always been chummier than my other brothers.”
“So you have a vested interest in this mission. Good.” After another sip of coffee, he added, “And MI6 has decided it’s time for the next step to bring you and Wallis together as a team. Plan one of your weekends here at the fort. Invite the usual crowd and include the Simpsons, both of them. Sometime during the party you must kiss Wallis on the lips in front of everyone.”
“Indeed.”
David scheduled the gathering for the last weekend in January of 1932. He’d leave the planning to Thelma. She’s such a good egg to put up with me. Oh well, she made the decision not to marry me years ago. She usually made out the guest lists for such social occasions. He would think of some way of casually suggesting the Simpsons. He was somewhat eager, and he didn’t know why.
The last Friday night in January finally arrived, and all of their guests, including Connie and Ben Thaw, had arrived, except for the Simpsons. David stood in the foyer waiting their arrival. As the hour grew late, he smoothed out his kilt and looked into the octagonal parlor where the others had settled into card games and putting together jigsaw puzzles. David jumped a bit when the butler opened the door and invited the Simpsons in.
Servants took their luggage upstairs, and David escorted the Simpsons into the parlor, a pine paneled room with yellow velvet curtains.
“Yellow velvet? My, how brave you are.” Wallis laughed and walked over to Thelma for a hug and kiss.
“Isn’t she a scream?” Ernest said with a laugh.
“Yes, hysterical.” David crossed to Wallis and took her elbow to guide her to another table. “Please, I’ve saved you a spot at the poker table. I’ll sit next to you to help.”
As she sat, she smiled. “Oh yes, the last time we met was at a party at Thelma’s place in town. I was quite dreadful at cards, wasn’t I?”
When the dealer dealt the next hand, David stood and leaned over Wallis’ shoulder, his cheek grazing hers.
“Oh yes, this is a very good hand. I suggest—“
“Let me guess,” she interrupted him and within a couple of rounds she had won the pot. “Surprise. I’ve been practicing.”
“So you have.” David drifted over to a jigsaw table and sat.
In a few minutes Thelma went to the Victrola and put on a record of Tea for Two. She tapped on David’s shoulder and soon they were dancing in the middle of the room. Connie Thaw was the first to cut in to dance with the prince. Every woman had their turn except Wallis, still seated at the poker table. David grabbed her hand and twirled her to the middle of the room. He snuggled her neck.
“MI6 says I need to make my first advance on you tonight. Get ready to be kissed.”
“If MI6 orders it,” she whispered back. “Oh well, for King and Country.”
David stopped in the middle of the room, in sight of all the guests, and impressed a long kiss on Wallis’s lips, like a scene out of a silent movie. Among all the subdued gasps, he was sure he heard a man giggle.
The next morning his guests slept in per his instructions, but he arose early, put on his work clothes topped with a baggy sweater and attacked encroaching vines in his garden. He kept alert to anyone coming out on the terrace. Eventually, the Simpsons appeared carrying their cups of coffee. David walked over to them.
“I’m waging war on the laurel. It will absolutely triumph over the garden if I let it.” He paused to smile at Ernest. “Would you like to join me?”
He watched as a big smile spread across the face of Wallis’ husband.
“Why, it would be an honor, your highness.”
“Well, go up and get a heavy sweater. It’s cold out here.”
“Yes, sir!” Ernest ran inside like a giddy school boy.
Wallis looked at David in askance. “What are you going to do? Ask his permission?”
“Yes, I think I will. It would be the proper approach. Don’t you think he’ll approve?”
“Of course he will. If you’re not careful, he’ll send me to your bedroom tonight.”
Within half an hour, David and Ernest were hacking away at the weeds.
“You have an extremely attractive wife, Mr. Simpson.”
“Oh. Call me Ernest, sir. And yes, Wallis is lovely and vivacious.”
“I want to have an affair with her.” David grinned. “Would you mind? It’s a bit like cutting in at a dance.”
“Of course! I understand!” Ernest stepped in toward the prince. “I’m off to tend to my shipping business in New York quite often, which will be quite convenient, won’t it?”
“Yes. Quite.”
“And convenient in another way. I’ve always taken an interest in Wallis’ friend Mary Raffray. She’s recently divorced and, well, available. You won’t tell Wallis, will you?”
“Indeed not.”

Previously in the novel: Mercenary Leon fails in a kidnapping because of David, better known as Edward the Prince of Wales. Also in the spy world is socialite Wallis Spencer, who dumps first husband Winfield, kills Uncle Sol, has an affair with German Joachin Von Ribbentrop and marries Ernest. David and Wallis are told to kill American millionaire James Donohue.
Jimmy Donohue was growing up fast. He had plunged into puberty and didn’t have to follow anyone’s rules or ask for anyone’s permission when he left the house. His older brother, sixteen-year-old Wooly, was still at an awkward age where he felt most comfortable sticking close to home so he’d be available if his mother needed him for anything.
Jimmy’s favorite adventure was to follow his father, James, when he went out to enjoy a night on the town. Jimmy was good at lurking in the shadows and slipping in and out of places where respectable young gentlemen were forbidden to enter. He thought he would make a great spy. Of course, Jimmy also wanted to be a Broadway dancer or an Army Air Corps pilot. Mother Jessie would have disapproved of all three, which made them even more tempting.
The Donohues had just returned to their home at 6 East 80th Street in New York after wintering at their Palm Beach estate Cielito Lindo. Jimmy was ready for the change of pace. At first he found sneaking into the casinos to watch his father lose millions of dollars at the poker table to be entertaining. However, he didn’t understand why his father became so nervous about losing the money. They had enough so dropping a million at the casino couldn’t be a problem.
Jimmy decided it was like Jesus getting upset over being crucified because he knew he was going to come back from the grave in three days anyway. Jimmy was bored with all forms of education except the catechism classes at the Roman Catholic Church. Despite all his many faults he loved the mother church. He particularly loved to shock the priests in the confessional booth. Jimmy briefly considered going into the priesthood but he found dressing in all that black depressing. Cardinals looked snappy in their red gowns, but Jimmy doubted he would last long enough to become a cardinal.
His father’s escapades became more exciting since their return to New York. Jimmy shadowed him into disreputable little dives where the band played jazz and men danced with other men. He followed his father there every night. One time Jimmy saw James dance with a British sailor. The man wore his bellbottoms and vee-neck shirt tight. Sweat glistened on the sailor’s black skin. He was not tall and his body was lean and compact. James let him lead.
Now this was exciting, Jimmy decided. By the end of the two weeks James and his sailor left the club early, with the boy trailing. They went to the Waldorf-Astoria. Jimmy followed them upstairs and watched his father give the sailor a gift wrapped in a Tiffany’s box as they stood in front of a door to a suite. The sailor accepted it, kissed James on the mouth and lingered in the embrace. Jimmy giggled. He wondered what was going to happen next.
Three nights later as he finished his dinner he heard the front door shut. “What was that?”
“Your father has left for his social obligations earlier than usual,” Jessie explained, cutting her filet mignon, medium rare. “He’s always working hard to build new contacts for Woolworth enterprises. Don’t worry about it.”
That was a lie. It was one of the things he loved most about his mother. She could lie with sincerity. Jimmy wanted to believe she was telling the truth. In honor of his mother, he decided to tell his own lie.
“I don’t feel good.” Jimmy frowned. “I think it’s my sinus again.”
Jessie daubed her napkin to her mouth, trying not to smudge her lipstick. “Then you must go immediately to bed. If you don’t have your health then you don’t have anything.”
“Of course, Mother.” Jimmy marched to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Instead of going through his door, he continued down the hall to the servant’s entrance.
Jimmy beat his father to the night club. As he walked down the alley to the back door, he saw the sailor, leaning against a large trash can smoking.
“Hello,” Jimmy said as he approached the man.
“Hello.”
“My name is Jimmy Donohue. Who are you?”
“Nobody.”
“Everybody has a name.”
“If I told you my name I’d have to kill you.”
For once Jimmy was speechless.
“How old are you?” the sailor asked.
“Thirteen.”
“Oh sure. You’re old enough to die for asking too many questions.” He blew smoke Jimmy’s way. “Now do you want to know my name?”
“No.”
“Wise decision.”
This is ridiculous. Nobody’s going to scare me. I’m rich. Jimmy took another step forward and lifted his chin. “You’re from the Bahamas, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. We winter in Palm Beach. I recognized the accent.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
Jimmy didn’t know whether to like or hate this fellow. “Do you like my father?”
“That’s another one of those tricky questions that could get you killed.”
“My mother will pay a lot of money for you to go away.”
The sailor dropped his cigarette and ground it out. “How do you want to die? Bullet between the eyes? Slit throat? Or a quick, hard twist of the neck?”
Without another word Jimmy walked to the back door and opened it. He turned back. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’re lying.”
Jimmy stepped inside and began to close the door when he heard his father’s voice calling from down the alley.
“Jed! Here I am!”
The boy peeked out the door just in time to see his father hug the sailor and kiss him.
“Let’s skip the club tonight.” Excitement overwhelmed James’ voice. “I got us our usual suite at the Waldorf-Astoria—“
“Do you have my gift?” the sailor interrupted.
Jim fumbled with his pockets, pulling out a small black box. The man opened it and threw it on the dirty cobblestones.
“Diamond stick pin. How pathetic. I already have two.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m bored with you, Jim. Go home.”
James’ face crumpled into a pitiful contortion. “But I thought you loved me.”
“Loved you? You’re a drunk, a drug addict, a loser at gambling. You’re not even handsome anymore. You’re going bald. That belly makes me sick.”
“Why are you saying these things?”
The sailor turned away. “Someone paid me to humiliate you. Now who hates you enough to do that?”
James slid down to the street, his back against the trash can. “Jed! Jed!”
The sailor turned around and smirked. “By the way, you ought to see a doctor. You see, I have syphilis. I had forgotten to tell you that.”
Jimmy decided at that moment he hated his father. How could he be such a disgusting weakling? He didn’t care about his father having syphilis. He didn’t want his mother to catch it. That would be just plain rude! Jimmy swore to himself he would never let anyone humiliate him the way the sailor did to his father. He would always be in control of people. No one would control him. Except maybe his mother.
Eventually, James stood, wiped the tears from his eyes and staggered out of the alley. Jimmy waited a moment and then slipped from the club and went home. He couldn’t sleep all night. He kept thinking of all the ways he could get even with his father.
The next morning Jimmy asked his mother if they could have their breakfast on the terrace, just the two of them. It was April, after all, and the weather was becoming quite nice, for New York at least. After they had taken a few bits of their omelets, Jimmy cleared his throat.
“Mother, I think the time has come for you to divorce father.”
Jessie smiled sweetly at him as she sipped her coffee. “Now you shouldn’t concern yourself with such sordid matters. Anyway, whatever you think your father has done, he has done it many times before. Besides, divorce is such a messy business. All the headlines.”
Jimmy was undeterred. “Then let’s kill him.”
“My dear, don’t be silly. We’re just normal high society people. What do we know of murder? I just cannot begin to wrap my head around the details. For instance, you have to have a good alibi, even if you’re not the one doing the actual murder. It’s better if you can make them commit suicide. So you have to make it easy on them to get the pills. Then you have to come up with a reason that would push them over the edge. But don’t let it be officially ruled suicide because no matter how big an inconvenience someone has become, you don’t want them to be kept out of heaven.” She paused to smile. “You see I’m just not bright enough to plan anything so complicated as murder.”
Jimmy was not surprised that by sunset his mother had announced she was having another one of her infamous nervous breakdowns. James announced at dinner he suspected he had contracted a nasty case of syphilis. He bought an over-the-counter medication called mercury bichloride, and a full recovery was expected. Jessie admitted herself to Harbor Sanitarium on Madison Avenue.
As the family gathered around her bed, she instructed James to proceed with plans for their spring tour of Europe as scheduled. Wooly sniffled and his eyes turned red. Jimmy thought his brother acted like a girl about such things. James spent the next few days making ocean liner reservations and wiring their favorite hotels in London, Paris and Rome to be expecting the family. Jimmy suggested to his father that he had done such a good job he should reward himself with a day of poker with his friends at the house. James agreed. Milton Doyle and Gordon Sarre arrived for luncheon at noon the next day and then settled into a nice relaxing game of cards. Then Jimmy walked up and stood by his father.
“Mr. Doyle, Mr. Sarre, did father tell you he has syphilis?”
“Oh, Jimmy, don’t” Wooly whined.
“He got these blue pills from the drug store. You’re not supposed to swallow them. That would kill you. You’re supposed to grind them up and spread it on your—“
“Jimmy! Shut up!” Wooly tried to pull him away.
Gordon smiled but kept staring at his cards. “Don’t worry, Wooly. I doubt Jimmy could say anything to shock us.”
“That’s right. Isn’t it so, Jimmy?” Milton glanced at the boy and cocked his head. “Rather takes the fun out of it, doesn’t it?”
James stood. “Excuse me. I feel the need to go to the bathroom.”
As he walked away, Jimmy asked, “Who gave it to you? A dancer? Or was it one of those nasty sailors?”
“Jimmy, I swear I’m going to knock you on your ass,” Wooly hissed.
In a few minutes James emerged, his face was already flush and sweaty. Gordon stood.
“What have you taken?”
“I took seven of them. I can’t tell you why I did it. I’m a chump for doing such a thing.”
Milton ran for the bathroom and came out with the bichloride mercury bottle. ‘It says the antidote is eggs and milk.” He looked at Jimmy and Wooly. “Boys, are there milk and eggs in the kitchen?”
“No,” Jimmy blurted. “We have to buy some.”
“Go! Quick!” Gordon ordered. “We’ll call the ambulance!” He looked at his friend. “Gordon, help me make him comfortable.”
Gordon and Milton helped James to the sofa where they laid him down. They were out the door and down the elevator to the small grocery right next to the hotel. They grabbed the milk and eggs and rushed out without paying. The clerk, familiar with their hijinks just waved. They were back within a few minutes. Jimmy pushed Wooly towards the living room.
“Go check on father. I’ll mix this up.”
Wooly frowned but did as he was told. Jimmy disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with a glass filled with milk and eggs. Milton took it and gently held it to James’ lips.
“Jimmy,” Wooly asked, “why is the milk blue?”
“No it isn’t.”
The ambulance team knocked on the door. Jimmy grabbed the glass and ran to let them in. As they loaded James on the stretcher, Jimmy took the glass back to the kitchen, emptied it and washed it out. The ambulance took James to Harbor Sanitarium where Jessie was in the mental ward. Milton and Gordon drove Jimmy and Wooly to the hospital and ushered them through the emergency entrance.
When Jimmy and Wooly entered their father’s room they heard the doctors discuss the results of the blood typing test and how one of the orderlies said he had that type and volunteered for the transfusion. They watched them hook James up to a line which went to the orderly lying on a nearby table. Soon blood transfused from the man to James. Jimmy stopped a nurse and pointed at his father.
“Is that going to work?”
The nurse looked at him with sad, kind eyes. “Of course it will.”
“You do know he took bichloride mercury, don’t you?” His tone was solemn.
“Of course I do.”
“So how often does a blood transfusion work on bichloride mercury?”
She patted his shoulder. “You’re a smart boy, aren’t you?”
“Not really,” he replied. “I find school boring. But I am an expert observer of life and death.”
Just at that moment Jimmy heard his mother’s voice. He turned to see an attendant roll her wheelchair in the door. Both he and Wooly went to her and hugged her.
“Where’s my Jim?” she asked in a loud, shrill voice. “Please don’t tell me he’s dead. I couldn’t live without my Jim.”
Wooly kissed her forehead while staring at his brother. “Don’t worry, Mother. He’ll be all right.”
Jimmy kneeled so he could face her. “Yes, Mother. Father’s not dead.” He leaned in to whisper, “Not yet.”
(Author’s note: I thought this might be a good time to remind the readers this is alternative historical fiction. None of these historical figures did any of these awful things. As far as anyone knows.)

Previously in the novel: Mercenary Leon fails in a kidnapping because of David, better known as Edward the Prince of Wales. Also in the spy world is socialite Wallis Spencer, who dumps first husband Winfield, kills Uncle Sol, has an affair with German Joachin Von Ribbentrop and marries Ernest. David and his brother George go to Buenos Aires where George is seduced by sex, drugs and booze.
On Monday morning after the hunting weekend at Thelma Furnace’s estate in Mowbray, the Simpsons rode back to London in the back seat of their limousine. Ernest hopped about like a little boy.
“Imagine, we got to meet two princes at one time!” He nudged his wife. “I think they liked you.”
There were times when Wallis was on the verge of loving her husband. This was not one of those times. She blew smoke in his face.
“You think?” She didn’t disguise her disgust. “My God, Ernest, I thought you were going to sell me to the highest bidder.”
“Wallis, my love,” he protested. “Don’t be crass. I wouldn’t take money for you. All I was doing was expressing my depth of tolerance and discretion, two qualities not to be underestimated in these modern times.”
“You must explain the difference to my panties sometime.”
Ernest laughed. “Oh, you know I’m teasing. I’m all the time teasing.” He paused for a response that was not forthcoming. “Anyway, we’ll probably never hear from either one of them again.”
Wallis knew that was not true. David was going to be in their lives for a long time to come. But she had more important things to consider. The general ordered her to gossip. She loved to gossip, and when MI6 ordered her to gossip, she had to take it seriously. National security depended upon it.
After they unpacked at the Bryanston Court apartment, Ernest ran off to the nearest pub to regale his Grenadier Guard chums with tales about the Prince of Wales. Wallis, on the other hand, settled down at her desk to write her bread and butter note to Thelma. She wrote several drafts, wadding them up and throwing them into her trash basket decorated with tiny pink bows. She had to use precise words to express her sincere appreciation with the right touch of vivacity and insouciance. After all, if she were too nice, Thelma might think she was up to something nefarious, which she was. Wallis had been closer friends with Connie, Thelma’s sister, than she had with her. She still couldn’t decide if she really liked Thelma at all. But duty demanded it.
Her thank you note evidently worked because a week later she and Thelma sat in a sidewalk café in the Mayfair district sipping mint tea and nibbling almond biscuits.
“I must say, Prince George is the most handsome man I have ever met,” Wallis whispered, her eyes sparkling. “I was simply devastated when he dashed off before supper at the hunting weekend.”
Thelma raised a penciled eyebrow. “Blame James Donohue. I didn’t even invite him to the party, for good reason too.”
“Who’s he?” Wallis fluttered her eyes.
“He’s married to the Woolworth fortune. His own family cuts pigs up for a living.”
“You mean cheap jewelry and ice cream Woolworths?” The thought of running dead animals through a machine to turn them into goo was much too dreadful to discuss. She concentrated instead on the family who made billions of dollars selling trinkets. “What was he doing in London? Buying miniature Big Bens wholesale to sell in their stores?”
Thelma took time to sip her mint tea. “I’d rather not talk about Mr. Donohue. He’s exotic in more ways than a respectable woman should acknowledge.”
“I though Prince George was considered quite exotic himself.”
“George has problems. Mr. Donohue is a problem.”
Wallis could tell the conversation was making Thelma uncomfortable. Her normally pleasant smile pinched into a scowl. Her petite nose was curdling as though it smelled barnyard stench.
“Who else is a problem?”
Thelma’s expression did not change. “Kiki Preston.”
“Oh, I think I’ve heard of her,” Wallis quipped. “She’s the girl with the silver syringe, isn’t she?” When Thelma chose to stick an entire almond biscuit in her mouth rather than reply, Wallis decided to move on to another topic. “So. Tell me how you met the Prince of Wales.” She knew this was the right question because Thelma relaxed and slid back in her chair.
“My goodness. That was many years ago. Nineteen eighteen. We were at a county fair handing out rosettes to cows, I think. He took me to this ramshackle structure he called Fort Belvedere. He drove too fast.” She puffed on her cigarette. “David was quite adorable as he described how he was going to turn it into his country home.” She looked at Wallis. “You know his family and closest friends call him David, don’t you?”
She smiled. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect.”
“I decorated Belvedere for him and I acted as hostess for his weekend parties.” Thelma paused to light a fresh cigarette. “We frequently make love. But I’d never marry him.”
“Why not?”
“Like I said, he drives too fast. He disappears for weeks at a time and when he returns it’s like ‘hail the conquering hero’, you know. No explanation. Let’s have a party.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It’s not like he’s interested in marriage. I’m sure you’ve heard of Freda Ward. She thinks she’s a movie star. She’s bedded David many times. Hosted at Belvedere too. And then, of course, there’s Princess Stephanie. Von Ribbentrop introduced them. You know all about Stephanie and Ribbentrop, don’t you?”
Wallis smiled. “I’ve met Joaquin but I haven’t the foggiest about Stephanie.”
“She’s some adventuress from Vienna. Stephanie claims the title of a princess because she married a member of the Austrian royal family for thirty minutes. She’s supposed to be a close friend of Adolph Hitler. And the servants at Belvedere tell me she spent a torrid two weeks with David but then disappeared.”
“Proving there is a God after all,” Wallis murmured before taking a last bite of her almond biscuit.
“I like you,” Thelma announced. “I like your style. We must go shopping.”
Over the next couple of months Wallis and Thelma went shopping several times, hosted each other in their homes and attended lavish events that Wallis had only read about in the newspapers. The only problem was that, try as she might, she could not pry any fresh gossip out of her new sophisticated friends about Prince George and the darker life he lead. She supposed they were practicing extreme discretion out of respect for the Royal Family. To hell with discretion!
Before long the newspapers were extolling the Brothers Royale for enduring their extended tour of South America. After the opening of the British Exposition in Buenos Aires, the brothers insisted on exploring the interior jungles of Argentina and Brazil. It was at this time Prince George came down with a lengthy list of loathsome diseases such as dengue fever, dysentery and infected insect bites.
Bullshit! He was going through drug detoxification. Wallis could not help but snort as she punctured her soft boiled egg one morning at Bryanston Court.
“Anything interesting in the paper?” Ernest‘s head leaned into the financial pages, though there was nothing for him to be worried about—the shipping industry was doing fabulously well.
“The boys are back in town.”
“Who?”
“The clown princes of Mayfair.”
“Very clever.” Ernest lowered the newspaper. “You wouldn’t say that to their faces, would you? It might hurt their feelings.”
“What if it did?” Wallis puffed on her cigarette. Ernest could be so tiresome.
“Well, it’s just that recently we’ve been having a gay time with a better circle of friends. I mean, I didn’t know Thelma’s other sister was the fabulous Gloria Vanderbilt.”
“Very well, just for you and little Gloria I shall behave.” Wallis didn’t realize she would be required to keep that promise so quickly. A messenger appeared at Bryanston Court by late afternoon with an invitation to be presented at St. James Court. Of course, that did require a bit of manipulation. Wallis had to offer to the royal staff her official divorce decree that she had been the injured party in her divorce from Win Warfield. In addition, she was not a British citizen. While Ernest’s dual citizenship was enough to gain admission for himself, it was not sufficient for Wallis. She had to find another British citizen to sponsor her. She wondered why she had to jump through so many hoops. After all, they invited her. Oh well, she decided, who can ever understand the ways of royalty.
Finally, she had to find something decent to wear. Ernest’s Grenadier Guard uniform would serve nicely for him, but Wallis had to scramble for a stunning gown. She borrowed Connie Thaw’s presentation gown, train, feathers and fan.
When the night came, Wallis and Ernest joined the other breathless socialites in a queue which weaved its way through four or five chambers of St. James’s palace before they reached the throne room. Wallis was bored, but Ernest made several new friends winding back and forth, nodding and chatting each time they passed.
The presentation itself only lasted thirty seconds; they backed out of the room and then explored other royal apartments, pausing only to bow and curtsy when the Prince of Wales and his retinue exited.
“Where is Prince George?” Ernest whispered.
“He had a bad case of the runs,” she muttered as she curtsied. She then heard the prince comment to General Trotter.
“Something ought to be done about the lights. They make all the women look ghastly.”
Wallis decided she had had enough pomp and pomposity. She told Ernest she was ready to go to Thelma’s townhouse for some hard liquor and hard laughs. They made a quick exit. She had just deposited her train and feathers with Thelma’s maid when the prince arrived.
He walked over to the Simpsons and extended his left hand to shake with Ernest. Wallis rolled her eyes. She had heard from friends David had this irritating habit of shaking with the wrong hand.
“So, I hope your brother, His Royal Highness Duke of Kent, is recovering sufficiently from his recent discomfort,” Ernest offered.
The prince’s eyes widened in alarm. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dysentery,” Wallis muttered. “It was in all the best newspapers.”
“Oh. Yes. Much. I had a touch of it myself. Damn Amazon. Never drink from it.” He smiled and appraised Wallis in her borrowed dress. “Mrs. Simpson, you looked exceptional in your gown.”
“But sir, I understand that you thought we all looked ghastly.”
“I had no idea my voice carried so far.”
He bowed and crossed the room to chat with a coterie around Thelma. No more than fifteen minutes had passed before the prince began to make his apologies and left.
“Oh my. Between the two of us, I’m afraid we have made the social blunder of the season,” Ernest quipped in a self-mocking tone.
“Shut up, Ernest,” Wallis snapped. “We’ve done no such thing. I’m starving. Get me a martini with two olives.”
After her second martini, Wallis handed the glass to her husband and ordered, “Get my wrap and let’s get the hell out of here. My feet are killing me.”
When they walked out of the building they were met by the Prince of Wales leaning against his long sleek black limousine. He smiled. “Need a ride?”
“How kind of you to wait.” Ernest’s face beamed.
The prince opened the door and Wallis slid in.
“Bryanston Court,” she said. Inside she was not surprised to see General Trotter. All she had to figure out was how to get rid of Ernest.
Ernest, by the way, continued to glow in surprise. “I know you. You’re General something.”
The general extended his hand. “Trotter. We met at Lady Thelma’s country house.”
“Have you been waiting out here the entire time?”
Wallis sighed. Ernest didn’t know when to keep his damn mouth shut.
“My dear General Trotter, you don’t have to explain anything to Ernest Simpson. He just owns a few little boats that carry beans and things across the Big Pond.”
Ernest laughed. “Isn’t she outrageously funny? I just adore her.” He turned to the prince. “Wallis and I would consider it an extreme honor if you and the general would pop up for a quick drink.”
Wallis rolled her eyes. “Ernest, please, don’t be so dreary.”
“No, no,” the prince interceded. “We’d be delighted. Wouldn’t we, general?”
“Of course, your highness.”
The four of them exited at Bryanston Court and the limo driver pulled to the side of the street to await the return of the prince and the general. Ernest carried on about how the fellows from his regiment would react upon hearing the Prince of Wales dropped by for a cocktail. Wallis continued to fret to herself about how they would go about conducting business with Ernest dancing around playing host.
“How about martinis for everybody?” Ernest asked as he opened the liquor cabinet.
The general went to him. “Please, don’t go to that much bother. Why don’t I just pour out a bottle of wine?”
Ernest plopped on the sofa next to the prince. “Imagine? A general serving me? Only in England.”
Wallis watched Trotter pour a powder into her husband’s glass. Completely oblivious, Ernest gulped it down as he continued to grin at the prince.
“I do believe you will be a king who will change the landscape of Europe.”
“I agree.” Trotter smiled and patted Ernest’s shoulder. “Would you like for me to freshen your drink?”
“Yes, please.”
Ernest sipped on the second drug-based glass of wine until he lost his train of thought in mid-sentence. Blinking, he tried to remember the next word he wanted to say, but without success. His hand holding the drink sagged. David reached over to grab it just about as Ernest’s eyes went up in his head and his body went limp.
General Trotter spread Ernest’s body out and grabbed him under his arm pits. “Which way to his room?”
“The door on the left.” Wallis bumped David out of the way. “I better handle this.”
He bumped her back and grasped Ernest’s legs. “I think not. You get the door.”
As Wallis walked to the bedroom, she called back, “A gentleman would have gotten the door.”
David walked by, bent over carrying Ernest’s weight. “You’d better learn. I’m no gentleman.”
“Children,” Trotter chided. “We’ve work to do.”
After Ernest was properly tucked in bed, the others settled comfortably in the salon.
“We must all agree, after the last debacle in Buenos Aires, James Donohue must be eliminated,” the general announced, his face turning grim.
David lit a cigarette. “How about the other two, Jorge and Kiki?”
“We can’t kill them all off at one time,” Trotter explained with an air of condescension.
“Yes, we can’t have a pandemic of socialite deaths,” Wallis added.
“I suppose it makes sense to go after Donohue first,” David conceded. “He said something curious in South America. He said he was a dead man walking.”
“Well, we can’t wait for it to happen naturally,” Trotter replied, eyeing each of them. “We have to poison him several different ways to ensure he dies.”
“Like Rasputin.” Wallis’s eyes twinkled.